If television has taught us anything, it's that geniuses are truly awful human beings. Not geniuses like you, obviously – you're brilliant. But a special kind of supernatural genius, the kind who is better at their job than anyone on Earth has ever been good at anything. And who is also a total and utter arse.

It's all House's fault, of course. Ever since the misanthropic medical magician limped on to screen seven years ago, television's portrayal of antihero super-genius has gone into overdrive. Cal Lightman from Lie To Me, Walter Bishop from Fringe, Patrick Jane from the Mentalist, Sherlock Holmes from Sherlock – it's practically a cliche. The most recent example is the latter. A self-confessed "high-functioning sociopath", Steven Moffat's "consulting detective" may have a ridiculously brilliant brain (or "mind palace", as he calls it – obviously), but he's also cold, solipsistic and – at times – cruel.

Seeing the world and the people in it as nothing more than a game for his own egomaniacal gratification, he saunters from scene to scene trolling humanity as though he were a god among insects. Just look at the way he publicly humiliated (and not for the first time) Molly in A Scandal in Belgravia. In short: he isn't a very likable man, but he isn't supposed to be likable – he's supposed to be right. That's how he gets away with it.

From a narrative perspective, it makes sense: these kind of antiheroes are unpredictable, interesting, cool and funny – it's why a generation loved Han Solo over Luke Skywalker. They can break the rules we can't, say the things we'd never dream of saying and are smarter than any of us will ever be. Plus, over time, seeing them gradually soften and redeem themselves (mostly due to another character's influence, like Watson) is a nifty shortcut for character development.

Yet there are problems with characters such as Sherlock. The first being that ubermensch brain of his, and the unrealistic exceptions of intelligence it fuels. There seems to be an idea in television that as long as you're supernaturally gifted enough, work and effort become meaningless. It's common to see various characters that, by the advent of their attractive mid-20s, have mastered several fields from languages and martial arts to complex sciences and computing. Just look at Walter Bishop in Fringe, who speaks five languages, has had papers published in academic journals, and is an expert in chemistry, biology, medicine, computer programming, auto repair, and basically everything. In reality, it can take over 10 years to master a single field; and that's even if you're supremely intelligent. It's understandable: TV writers are, after all, writing intellects far beyond their own – of course there's going to be exaggeration, especially in how complex problems seem to suddenly unravel in their mind through fluky epiphanies. Genuine geniuses look lazy by comparison, because the knowledge doesn't just lie dormant in their mind, they've had to work hard to achieve it. Also, they would probably be rubbish in a fight.

Yet this problem is mild compared with another issue: the idea that if you're brilliant, you're allowed to treat people horrifically. Now, this is TV: everything is made to look cooler than it is, even being an insufferable sod. But the values projected by popular culture do have a habit of reflecting and influencing our own, therefore it does send out the message that this is the main motivation for getting to the top – something that anyone who's ever worked for a boss drunk on power can testify to.

In reality, most of the people who think they're geniuses are most certainly not. There's even a psychological theory behind it, the Dunning-Kruger effect, in which people function under some sort of illusionary superiority, unable to comprehend their own incompetence. Genuine experts are more likely to be humble in the knowledge that although they know a lot about their chosen subject, they realise just how much they don't know about it.

So yes, if you work in an academic field along with a berk who thinks he's House and come under scrutiny for your years of laborious research not allowing you to solve a crime in under three minutes, thank television. Well done, television.